10
AFTER WAKING UP in Tag’s bed, Cassie’s entire day was slightly off. She ran out of gas. Was rudely stared at by some old biddies at the Rose Café—which reminded her of what Tag had said about this not being Mayberry. She ran out of cat food, and in the grocery store was frowned at by the checkout clerk, then followed to the car by another one, who wanted to know what hours Bare Essentials would be open, because she couldn’t wait to get inside and spend money.
Contradictions. Her life was full of them.
In the post office, no one even looked her way, making her quite suddenly realize that not everyone in town was talking about her or staring at her. Which brought her to another shocking thought. Was the entire attitude she sensed here in Pleasantville simply a reflection of her own attitude about the town?
She would have dwelled on that more but had picked up her forwarded mail from the agent and found two more letters from Pete. All of her preoccupation with the inhabitants of Pleasantville flew out the window at this startling reminder that at least one person was dangerously obsessed with her.
At least the return address was Los Angeles, far from Pleasantville, Ohio.
True to form when faced with something that scared her, she refused to think about any of it. She spent the day at Bare Essentials, arranging and rearranging stock on the new shelves and walls, getting more stock delivered by a grinning Daisy, who admitted to wearing crotchless panties—courtesy of Bare Essentials—beneath her uniform. Maybe Daisy wasn’t quite as sweet as she appeared to be.
While Cassie and Kate worked, they laughed and talked, and laughed some more, reveling in spending so much time together for the first time since high school. Their laborious efforts seeming a lot more like fun than revenge.
The fun took a downturn when Kate threw her a knowing glance and brought up the subject of Tag.
“You do remember the sheriff, right?” Kate asked, tongue in cheek. She was hanging silk robes according to size on a wooden rack. “The man who’s given you three tickets. The man more gorgeous than sin itself. The man who whenever I bring him up you go slightly bipolar?”
“He has that effect on people.”
“No, he has that effect on you. And I think you have that effect on him, as well. You going to do something about it?”
“Such as?”
“Such as…I don’t know…” Kate opened another box and pulled out more padded hangers. “At least burn up a box of condoms together.”
Cassie, who’d just taken an unfortunate sip of soda, choked.
Kate spun around, then laughed. “You liked that one?”
Cassie wiped her chin. “You never used to say such things. What’s come over you?”
“We’re talking about you. And the sheriff. I guess, judging by your reaction, I should have said second box of condoms, huh?”
“Kate. Please.” She sniffed, acting insulted because she didn’t want to get into this, not when last night was stamped so indelibly in her mind. “We all know I never go back for seconds.”
“Yes, but we both know he’s different. You’re different.”
“It’s not like that.” Scowling, Cassie stared down at the shipment of thigh-high stockings she’d been folding. “I have no idea why we’re even wasting our breath talking about it.”
Kate put down the hangers and came to Cassie. Took her hands, looked deep into her eyes, which Cassie hated because Kate seemed to see all when it came to her. “We’re talking about it because I’m worried about you. I think Pete is a loose cannon, and I like knowing there’s someone here who cares about you after I leave. I like knowing you care about him back.”
“I don’t care about men.”
“I know.” Kate squeezed her shoulders. “And for the most part, I agree with you. They’re scum. But Tag is not, and I think you know it. I think you’re scared of that very fact.”
“Look, you won’t even admit you have a thing for that sexy Jack. You know, the guy who helped you with Flo’s furniture. The one you got caught parking with while I was in New York. The two of you are sniffing around each other like crazy. So you tell me who’s running scared here.”
Kate tightened her lips and went back to hanging silk robes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.”
Kate placed three more robes in the display, moving very carefully, very purposely, as she always did when she was annoyed. She shot a look at Cassie.
Cassie just lifted a daring brow.
Kate twisted her lips, holding back a smile.
Cassie didn’t bother holding hers back, and suddenly they were both laughing. “We’re pathetic,” Kate said when she could.
“Yeah. But at least we know it.”
They left out the deeply personal stuff after that.
And later, when Cassie went home—where she showered and decided to hell with getting dressed again, to hell with anything remotely related to beauty—she tried to relax.
Which is how she ended up on her couch with a half gallon of double-fudge chocolate ice cream and a spoon, wearing a large, shapeless T-shirt over equally large and baggy sweat bottoms, looking like a fashion don’t.
Comfort clothes and comfort food were heaven on earth, she thought, shoving in another mouthful as she sat on the couch with the remote, changing channels at the flick of her attention span.
“Meow.”
She turned her head when Miss Priss leapt up to the back of the couch and balefully studied the ice-cream container. “I don’t share.”
“Meow.”
Ah, hell. She held out the spoon and watched the cat curl up at her shoulder and very delicately lap at the offering.
A loud rumbling made her jump until she realized it was coming from the cat. For a moment she seriously went still, thinking Miss Priss must be dying from some stomach ailment, but then she realized the cat was…purring.
Apparently Miss Priss liked comfort food, too. “Well, what do you know, common ground.”
The cat’s eyes were closed in ecstasy as she lapped at the spoon, and Cassie actually felt a melting low in her belly at how cute she looked. She dipped the spoon back into the container for more. “Maybe we can coexist after all, huh?”
At the knock on the front door, cat and woman looked at each other. “You expecting company?” Cassie asked. “Because I’m sure the hell not.” Reluctantly she set down the ice cream and padded into the foyer. She eyeballed the umbrella stand and one of the long-handled umbrellas in it, thinking that if Pete had somehow found her she could crack him over the head with one. Action plan in place, she looked through the peephole.
Stacie stood there, smiling and waving at her.
Cassie nearly groaned. She was so not feeling social. She looked like death warmed over…but then again, Stacie was holding an aluminum-foil-covered plate that looked loaded with incredible calories from heaven itself.
Opening the door, Cassie’s gaze locked on that plate, so she didn’t anticipate the bone-crunching hug.
“Oh, Cassie.” Squeeze, squeeze. “You’re here!” Stacie pulled back and offered the plate. “I don’t know if you realized but we do a cookie exchange every month—me and Diane and Annie and some others—and everyone is still talking about Bare Essentials. About the party you and Kate gave for all of us. We’re just so thrilled with what we purchased, we wanted you to have these goodies as a thank-you.”
Cassie, in the act of lifting the foil and eyeballing a meringue cookie, went still. “This is from…everyone?”
“Everyone.”
“To me. Cassie Tremaine Montgomery.”
Stacie laughed. “The one and only. We sent Kate a plate, as well.” Her smile faded a little. “That’s okay, isn’t it? Because actually, they wanted me to invite you to join our cookie exchange, but we thought you might think it was…well, you know, too small-town. Sort of stupid.”
“I…don’t think it’s stupid.” In fact, she could hardly talk. She felt overwhelmed by their openness and generosity. “And if I wasn’t leaving at the end of the summer, I’d join your cookie exchange. If, um, I could cook.”
Stacie grinned and hugged her again. “If you were staying, I’d show you myself. It’s fun.”
“But I’m not staying.”
“I know.”
“I’m leaving soon as fall hits. I have some jobs lined up.”
“You lead such an exciting life,” she said on a sigh. “Well…enjoy. Do you have any plans for the night? Maybe a hot date or something to go with that exciting life?”
Cassie looked down at herself and laughed. “Yeah, hot date. Look at me.”
“I am. You’re beautiful.”
“Stacie, I am dressed like a potato sack. I haven’t combed my hair or put on any makeup.”
“Really?”
Cassie started to laugh then realized Stacie wasn’t. “Maybe you need glasses.”
Stacie shook her head, looking suddenly sad. “I mean, I can see you’re not dressed for a photo shoot, as you usually are, but my God, most women would kill to like you do right now on their very best day.”
From inside, Cassie’s phone rang. Stacie smiled again. “I’ll let you go. Maybe tomorrow we can catch lunch together or something.”
“I…” She stared into Stacie’s hopeful face and let out a breath. “I’d like that,” she said, shocked to mean it.
She thought about that as she went running for the portable phone, which she kept meaning to put back on its base after she used it but hadn’t managed yet. By the time she found the thing, under Miss Priss and her big butt, she was breathless. “Hello?”
Dial tone.
Well, damn she hated that. She set it down and told herself she’d just taken too long to get to the phone and whoever had been calling had gotten tired of waiting.
Only no one ever called her but Kate, who would have called her on her cell phone, not Flo’s phone. She shook her head to clear it. She was not going to get paranoid.
“Meow.”
Cassie sank back to the couch, reached for the ice cream and found it nearly gone. Shocked she craned her head and stared at the cat, who had a fudge mustache. “You are a pig.”
Miss Priss started the rumble thing again and shifted closer. Then closer still, until she was in Cassie’s lap. Only then did she close her eyes and drift off.
Cassie stared down at the big, fat, lazy cat. “You’re shedding,” she said. “Ugh. Luckily I don’t care about these clothes.” Leaving the cat in her lap, she reached for the plate Stacie had just brought, feeling a stab of something that felt uncomfortably like a conscience.
Stacie thought they were friends, and Cassie had never said otherwise.
But what kind of a friend took, took, took and didn’t give anything in return? Couldn’t give anything in return?
“I’m leaving in a month,” she told Miss Priss. “Stacie knows that. You know that.”
Miss Priss opened her slitted green eyes and stared at her.
“I am,” Cassie said firmly, but her fingers sank into the cat’s fur. “And you’re going to have to find another person to mooch off of.”
The doorbell rang again, and Cassie dislodged the fat cat. Grabbing a fistful of white-chocolate macadamia cookies to die for, she walked back into the foyer, figuring Stacie had forgotten something. Maybe she had another high-calorie offering.
She just wished she didn’t feel so…vulnerable. Inexplicably, she felt open in a way she didn’t usually allow, and for some reason, couldn’t seem to close herself off. A little shaky, needing to be alone to regroup, she stuffed a cookie into her mouth and reluctantly opened the door.
Not Stacie.
“Tag,” she said around a mouthful.
“Me,” he agreed. He was holding up the doorjamb with his long, rangy body. His legs were casually crossed, his weight on his arm and shoulder, with his sunglasses hanging out the side of his mouth by an earpiece. Then he straightened to his full height, removed the sunglasses from his mouth and used it for his lethal weapon.
A smile.
Only this smile was different than any other one he’d ever given her. This smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and now that she was staring at him so closely, she could see the strain around his mouth, the tension in every muscle so unfairly and perfectly delineated in his damn sheriff’s uniform.
And there she stood, holding a fistful of cookies, crumbs down the front of her— Oh, God. Forget the crumbs. Forget that her heart had stopped at just the sight of him. Forget that she could tell something was wrong. She was standing there in baggy, ugly clothes, with her hair piled on top of her head in a ponytail of all things, and not an ounce of makeup on her face.
She felt naked. “This isn’t a good time,” she said, and started to shut the door on his face.
He simply slapped his hand to the wood and held it open.
“Go away.” God, her voice sounded small. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I’m not in the mood for you.” She tried to push the door shut but he was still in her way. Refusing to humiliate herself in a battle of the muscles that she couldn’t possibly win, she glared at him. “Is there something wrong with your hearing?”
“Not at all.” His gaze ran over her face and she wished to God she’d at least put on makeup. Without eyeliner and lipstick at the bare minimum, she knew she looked like death warmed over. And how pathetic was it she still had a grip on a handful of cookies, not to mention the fudge ice cream stain on one breast.
“Cassie, I don’t want to force my way in.”
“Good. Then go.”
“Please. Please let me in.”
That low, gravely voice had never failed to knock her knees together and now was no exception. It really ticked her off. “Do I have a choice?”
“You always have a choice, damn it.”
She closed her eyes and put her forehead to the wood.
So light she was certain she imagined it, he ran his hand down her hair. “If it’s because you’re not dressed,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen you like this before.”
“Don’t remind me.” When he reached out and tugged lightly on a wayward strand of hair, she rolled her eyes. “No one sees me without makeup.”
“I like you without it. You seem different. Softer. Let me in, Cassie.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to talk.”
“About last night? I already said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you, but I don’t feel like paying you back right now—”
“Maybe another time,” he said very softly, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he sounded frustrated, as well, “we’ll talk about the fact that you will never, ever owe me for letting me touch you. But right now I want to talk about my father.”
Everything within her went still and she slowly lifted her head, thinking she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Who?”
“You know who. My father.”